


Homo Hippocampus

by phipiohsum475



Series: Species!Lock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mpreg, but its seahorse-y, seahorse!AU, so mpreg is normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the fandom has wolves and cats and dogs and egg fics, and I just thought there are so many other types of reproduction from the animal world...</p><p>So, seahorses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homo Hippocampus

**Author's Note:**

> Its 4am, and this is completely unbetaed. And mildly insane. Feel free to (kindly!) point out my errors!

It’s time.

They’ve taken an unofficial conception leave, as they aren’t hired by an official capacity by NSY, but Lestrade still knows they shouldn’t bother Sherlock or John for the next five weeks or so. They’ve all stockpiled food and gifts for the mates, the young, and especially John. The pool was won by Dimmock, of all people, and they’ve started taking bets on the number of young.

John has finally come to terms with his luck. For near a decade, he’d accepted his lot in life as a bondless stallion. And now, he’s got a gorgeous, brilliant mare and they’ve decided it’s time for young. He’s not necessarily looking forward to the constrains of pregnancy, but he’s still glad that evolution has granted the species hippocampus reproduction rather than primate.

Mycroft sends a car to take them to the airport, because of course he does, and Sherlock, in his eagerness to mate with John, accepts the gesture with minimal complaining. They’ve decided to mate in Kaua’i, since their private cases have afforded them the luxury of a destination conception.

The plane flights are tedious, save for Sherlock starting early signs of courtship. Yellow and purplish brown colors slowly dance and fade on his skin, with speckled spots like misted paint drops pointing to his breviceps ancestry. The crew, along with several passengers, stop to congratulate them and offer them trinkets, gifts, and advice. Sherlock bristles at the advice, the assumptions that he isn’t fully and completely prepared for the courtship, John’s pregnancy, and raising the young. If Moriarty was Mr. Sex, he is Mr. Research. Or maybe Mr. Detective. Or something else, and John laughs because it is not often that Sherlock is muddled with hormones to the point of being ludicrous.

On the last leg of the flight, from Los Angeles, John’s colors begin to change too. The patterns on his arms and face, since that’s all Sherlock can see, are a reddish mocha brown mottled with white spots, belying his jayakar heritage. They hurry to the hotel upon disembarking and make their way to their courtship suite. The suite is actually a bungalow within a set of six suites, all branched off a pier coming off the beach into Hanalei Bay, and reminds John faintly of bronchi.

The suite is one large room, with a bathroom off to the side. The room is open out towards the ocean, although large, sheer drapes can cover the lack of wall if necessary. In the southeast corner of the room, a large hole in the hardwood floor reveals a pool of ocean underneath. John peers over and sees that aside from some holes to allow water to flow through, the pool in encased in glass down to the ocean floor for safety. Sea grass grown up from the ocean floor and sways in the current. Hooks on the edge of the pool and a nearby chest suggest there is a water hammock for rest during the courtship and pregnancy. A few feet beyond the pool in the southwest corner of the room is a bed, with teal blue silk sheets and ivory white duvet, with soft downy teal and orange pillows. The décor is obviously thematic to tropical ocean, with shells on every surface, sensuous pictures of ancestral seahorses, and lush green plants in every corner. On the dresser, a ivory white vase that matches the duvet, is a small bouquet of vibrant orange birds of paradise.

It’s late, an although their colors are blooming, they decide to spend a night recovering from their travels before beginning their courtship. Well, John decides. He wants one night on those soft silk sheets before spending the next month in the water.

John is woken a few scant hours later by an energetic Sherlock. He allows himself to be pulled from the silk sheets and takes a few moments to sway together with Sherlock on the deck of the bungalow, the night warm and the stars aglow. Their bodies press tightly against one another, skin to skin, before John leads them into their room’s ocean pool. The water is warm and clear, and they tangle their legs in between the soft blades of the sea grass. The colors on their bodies fade and change slowly as they hold hands and swim softly in circles, kissing deeply and gently.

They spend hours, chasing each other in circles, tangling themselves in the grass and holding on deeply to each other. When they get tired, John gets out to hook up the water hammock, and slinks back into the water to sleep, pressed up against Sherlock.

He’s awoken, again, by Sherlock, who is running a finger across the slightly inflated pouch of his abdomen. “Show me.” He demands huskily, and John contracts the muscles leading from his arse to abdominal pouch to allow the pouch to fill with water. He knows this is a completely practical mating ritual to demonstrate its emptiness, but he is reminded how sensual it can be for mares when Sherlock lets out a needy groan. “Again, John.”

Each day John is awoke by the request to demonstrate the availability of his pouch for Sherlock’s eggs, which then leads to rigorous bouts of sex, dancing, swimming, and holding, and each day it leads to increasing sexual frustration as their bodies refuse release. Sherlock’s beginning to swell with eggs and John fondles his lower belly in anticipation.

On the seventh day, their bodies are buzzing with the need to release eggs (Sherlock) and sperm (John) and they both know that today is the day. Despite the large quantities of both that will be emitted, thankfully mating typically only produces two to three live young, although isn’t not uncommon for an unfortunate couple to have a dozen fry at once.

They drift in the center of the pool. Sherlock wraps his arms around his mate and slowly eases his way into John. With hurried thrusting, he releases his eggs with a deep, pleasurable moan into his stallion’s pouch. Sherlock’s left arm drifts down to John’s abdomen feel the eggs expand his pouch and Sherlock’s right arm drifts down to work John through his release. John comes with a less refined shriek and clouds the water with his sperm. He spins in Sherlock’s arms and they float, embraced in deep satisfaction and comfort, while the eggs fertilize and embed themselves in the pouch.

Over the next month, John remains stuck in the water. He swings in his hammock and swims awkwardly as he adjusts to the size of his growing belly. The hotel doctor comes by twice a week for prenatal care, and she confirms they’ll be having four fry. Three males, one female, although they won’t be able to tell stallions and mares, since those subtle features can’t be determined through ultrasound.

Sherlock solves cold cases during the month long pregnancy. John is grateful for the gift from Lestrade, but isn’t surprised that Sherlock dashes off for a day here or there to solve a housekeeping theft ring and a local drug scandal. Regardless of whatever case he’s on, Sherlock is sure to join John in the water at least once a day to further his bonds with John and their fry.

The fry are born one night three weeks later without a hitch. The doctor oversees the process but never needs to enter the water to assist. They’re small, only a few pounds apiece, but they’ll bulk up and be ready to travel in a week’s time, back to London.

Humphry, Antimony, Frederick and Linus make the trip safely, and just as important, quietly.

Mrs. Hudson may not have been their housekeeper, but she rather insists on being their nanny.

And life adjusts to a new normal at 221B.

**Author's Note:**

> I used these pics for the colors: http://www.saveourseahorses.org/seahorses.php


End file.
